


Diamonds and Glitter

by lilithduvare



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adult Stiles, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Asexual Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Mentions of Degrading Speech, Morally Ambiguous Peter Hale, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, Necromancer Stiles Stilinski, Online Dating, Peter is a Little Shit, Sex Positive Stiles Stilinski, Slow Build, Some People On The Internet Are Disgusting, Stiles Is Not Your Typical Sugar Baby, Sugar dating, future setting, might be triggery, slight Manipulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-02-23 00:30:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13178511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithduvare/pseuds/lilithduvare
Summary: Being 26 with a not leased by owned apartment in Boston, a lucrative side job that's not exactly legal or actually something he could ever list in his CV, a Master's degree and half of a PhD Stiles had expected his romantic life to be at least slightly better than dating gold diggers who only see what he has (who knew having decent savings, no student loans and an apartment was so tempting). But when his last boyfriend breaks up with him after Stiles tells him no when he wants to move in, he has to face reality: dating might not just be for him.Then his not!whining to Lydia leeds one thing to another and before Stiles knows what's happening he is signed up to an online dating site... as a Sugar Baby.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostwithoutmyanchor (mysourwolf)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysourwolf/gifts).



> This is my Steter Secret Santa piece for the lovely lostwithoutmyanchor. I know this isn't exactly what you wished for, but my knowledge of canon is spotty at best and when I saw you liked Sugar Baby Stiles, I knew I had to write this piece for you. 
> 
> I hoped to finish it by the deadline except real life kicked my ass, so I'll do my best to finish the whole story asap, although expect a lot more of this to come still. Also sorry for being a day late, but I hope the content makes up for my tardiness at least a bit.

**Chapter 1**

  
Stiles is not like the stereotypical Sugar Babies one can hear about on TV or the internet. For one, he is not a starving college student looking to find someone to support him for providing ‘company’. For another he is not starving at all or is in need of financial assistance. If anything, the problem is him having money to his name along with a cozy apartment and a kind of well-paying job and even his own car while still working on his PhD. Who knew that being magically affiliated and not dumb as a rock paid so well? Although Stiles has to admit that after he once again gets dumped when he doesn’t want his latest boyfriend to move in (after 2 months of dating), he feels really dumb as a rock.

Lydia’s comment doesn’t help to feel better either.

“Your problem is that you are dating losers,” she says, judgment clearly written all over her face despite the slightly grainy quality of their Skype feed.

“Sorry for having a bad taste in people, we cannot all find the first rich douchebag to have at our beck and call,” he snipes back, maybe a little more spiteful than necessary.

It’s not like he is heartbroken about getting dumped (again), but the disappointment of once again being taken for a fool and not measuring up is there. It’s a strange simmery, burning feeling that has settled deep in his stomach. It’s annoying and disheartening. He sighs, jaw clenching with tension, and doesn’t take his words back. Not that Lydia expects him to. She knows him too well by now to believe the sincerity even if he did.

Lydia purses her lips for a second, and Stiles starts to prepare himself for whatever cutting remark is on the tip of his tongue when the ridiculous noise that is Skype’s chat message notification echoes in his laptop’s speakers. He blinks stupidly and clicks on the chat bubble to see what Lydia has sent him, his brows furrowing at the sight of a link.

“Diamondsinthesky dot com? What’s this?”

“The solution to your problem.”

Stiles squints at her, trying to figure out if she is trolling him. “I don’t know if you missed the memo, but just because I have my own apartment, which I inherited from my crazy bigot of an aunt as you know, affording diamonds just for fun and giggles—”

“Stiles.” Stiles’ mouth clicks shut on its own; years upon years of conditioning by a wide assortment of terrifying(ly hot) people does that to a person. “Open the link.”

He does as he is told, his mind blanking when instead of some cheesy but high end web store that offers either drugs or diamonds or both, he is met with the no less cheesy black and white picture of an attractive man in a suit holding a no less attractive woman in an elegant dress. Next to them there is a blue and silver button, advertising ‘Sign Up’ under the weirdly shimmery, colorful silhouette of a diamond logo with the title Diamonds in the Sky above all of it.

Stiles cocks his head. He thinks he knows what he is seeing, but for some reason unable to draw the connection between the obvious answer and Lydia, his friend, directing to this site.

“Lyds, I know I was just saying things about not being able to afford diamonds, but an escort site? Things aren’t that bad… I mean, I can totally pay my bills and buy groceries even at the end of the month. Promise!” He knows he is babbling, but he doesn’t know what else to do. Besides letting his fingers pull up Google and research the shit out of this site in front of him. Because reading the About section is for idiots. All the while, Lydia just knocks an eyebrow at him, expecting him to come to some conclusion she had reached ages ago, and… Oh. “This is a Sugar Baby/Daddy… Momma? site.”

Stiles looks down at himself, at the frayed hem of his sweatpants and the large hole on his old, ketchup stained T-shirt, then he looks back at the background photo of that pretty couple and feels his lips tilt up, not in a nice way. Lydia sighs, probably reading his mind — like always — and crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“Stop being obtuse,” she snips, her glare pretty impressive even with her face being a little grainy from the Skype acting up like usual. “This is the perfect opportunity to find someone who will finally spoil you the way you deserve it.”

“Lucky me, I’m actually okay with sucking dick, huh?” Stiles retorts, clapping his hands in fake cheer. “I’ll just imagine some underwear model while fondling some grandpa’s saggy sacks.”

“You’re an idiot.” She sounds fond, which is definitely an improvement after the sheer exasperation for the past half an hour. “There are a lot of young Sugar Daddies and Mommas, and signing as a Sugar Baby gives you the advantage of having your pick of suitors.” Her half-smile turns into a sharp glare. “Of course you don’t have to do it. You can keep picking up complete assholes who only see you as their meal ticket for the foreseeable future. But next time, call McCall when you need to hide another body because your latest shitty boyfriend or girlfriend doesn’t know what no means.”

“That was only once!” Stiles protests weakly, wincing at how sulky his voice sounds. It wasn’t his fault Patrick was a fucking sidhe — something he had completely forgotten to mention when they started going out — and allergic to iron.

Lydia ignores him.

“Or, you can give this thing a chance. It’s a new site, one that protects its Babies and does its best to provide them with opportunities to find good matches while also enjoying themselves.”

Stiles rubs a hand over his face. “I need to think about this,” he says.

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I know you, Stiles. Given the chance you would over analyze every function of the site, drawing up charts about how useful it would be for you and sabotage yourself without giving it a try. So, no, you don’t get the chance to think about it. It’s a simple yes or no thing.”

He scowls at her, knowing that she’s right. He thinks about telling Lydia that he’s okay with being single for the foreseeable future and that he doesn’t need anyone to be happy. He is fine. Except he really isn’t. He gets into these moods, where he just can’t get out of his head and needs someone else to be there. A warm body with the ability to talk to him. And to listen. To remind Stiles that it’s not all a dream. That he is fine. That he survived.

He clicks back on a review he managed to dig up on the site and skims it for real, because, even if he doesn’t get the chance to dig deep, he doesn’t make decisions blind. Not anymore.

“This article says it has a video chat option,” he says, not sure who his words are intended for. “This almost sounds like cam work… without the official work thing? Am I supposed to jerk off on camera for a bunch of rich dudes?”

“No,” Lydia scoffs. “Part of it works a bit like Twitch and the other streaming sites. You turn your camera on and do whatever you want. The Daddies and Mommas can watch you and chat with you in a private chat room that comes with setting up your profile. You can also do one on one sessions with people who send you a message and you give them a private access. It would be an ideal solution for your… itch, even if only a temporary one.”

“Does Jackson know that you are a Sugar Baby?” The question falls out on his mouth, but he knows he’s right. He would know it even without the pinched look that appears on Lydia’s face, but at least she doesn’t try to lie about it.

“Of course he knows about it. He is one of my loyal followers, after all.” Stiles has never understood the dynamic between Lydia and Jackson and doesn’t really want to either. He suspects it has something to do with Lydia’s constant and absolute need for control and Jackson’s abandonment and self-worth issues, but smart enough not to breach the topic, ever. “But this is not about me.”

Sure it’s not.

Stiles doesn’t argue, instead, he takes a deep breath and clicks on the Sign Up button and tries not to feel like he has failed at being a normally functioning human being who, despite all odds against him, can build lasting relationships on his own. Then again the chance for having anything resembling a normal life had flown out the window when Stiles was sixteen and had the brilliant idea of looking for half of a dead body in the woods. So what does it matter that he is about to sort of sell himself to a bunch of rich dudes (and maybe ladies) on the internet?

It’s not like he has to meet any of these people.

He trusts Lydia’s judgment, and she is right. He deserves better than some fuckboy who only dates him for longer than a week because Stiles isn’t one step away from being homeless. And anyway, he is a twenty-six year old adult man. If he wants to sort of sell himself on the internet to rich dudes (and maybe ladies), he can.

It’s this mantra that helps him fill out the registration form once he successfully clicks on the ‘I’m a Sugar Baby’ icon that flashes up on his screen. Lydia head is bowed in the small window still open for their video chat, her hand moving steadily across the notebook in front of her. It’s her way to give him space and privacy while also being there for him if he needed her. Stiles loves her for it. And every once in a while wishes he could be enough for her. Or that she could be enough for him.

“How is your research going?” he asks absentmindedly as he checks different boxes and answers inane questions about his dietary habits. He is leaving giving himself a user name last.

“It’s a challenge.” Which is Lydianese for ‘fuckingly badly’.

Stiles can sympathize. He avoids looking over at the dangerously high pile of books on the corner of his desk, taunting him about being lazy and a wimpy little bitch. At least, he has the chance to finish it in the next decade or two, unlike Lydia, he just needs to overcome his qualms about human sacrifices. Lydia though, she decided to do the impossible, and has been trying to rationalize magical energy for the better part of two years now, translating impossible feats into numbers. Stiles admires her for it even if she will have to present all her findings as purely theoretical, because if anyone can do it, it’s her.

Stiles waits patiently, choosing his eye color from the provided selection in the mean time. Lydia will start talking, she always does when she hits a wall. They have this silent pact neither of them agreed upon where they are free to rant about academia all they want, but only get twenty minutes a session because they both have the tendency to get lost in their theories.

He looks down at his body again, trying to figure out which super cliche body type he should choose for himself, when Lydia starts speaking. She is clearly frustrated but unlike Stiles, she is way above throwing things across the room. Instead, she has this weirdly blank mask on, pretending that she isn’t bothered by not acing something on her first try. It’s a hell of a disturbing sight, but way too familiar by now. Actually, it’s a sight Stiles has been seeing since they were in their early teens, the only difference is that he is not trying to romanticize it anymore and believing that he is the only one who can see behind the Ice Queen front Lydia has going for her.

“My calculation is supposed to be correct,” she says, her tone carefully bland. That’s always a bad sign with her. Stiles checks the time in the right bottom corner of his screen. “The equations I’ve drawn up reflect the energy that fuels spells. I made sure to be conscious of the power required and the caster’s physical condition along with the environmental factors. It should be working, but the second I try to model the spell, it all falls apart!” And now she is growing traction, the carefully constructed facade cracking.

Stiles hums, staring at the ‘Who are you?’ section, the large empty box mocking him. “Did you take it into consideration that depending on the spell and the nature of the caster, the energy will differ?”

“I’m not an idiot,” Lydia bites out, but a glance to the shrunken window that connects him to her shows that she is frowning at her notes. “Hm… Ah!” Her face lights up after a long moment, a moment that Stiles spends on typing up and promptly deleting the first sentence of his introduction. Three times. “I am an idiot.”

Stiles snorts and deletes that stupid first sentence again. This is harder than he thought. Lydia calling herself an idiot would have been an impossible feat back in high school, but there really seems to be something about the saying that the more you know, the more you know you don’t know. Which is kind of really fucked up but Stiles has to give it to Aristotle, the guy knew how to mindfuck people while handing out lessons in humility. Lydia has profited from them quite a lot in the past few years and so has Stiles, if he’s being honest.

Which is how he finds himself writing that as the first sentence of his introduction. It somehow seems fitting. Also covers up the fact what he cannot say about himself quite nicely in his humble opinion. Well, for a fleeting second, he does consider writing down the truth. It would sound crazy for sure but might also make his profile stand out from others. Or draw in some real creeps and/or hunters. Boston isn’t all that huge after all, and Stiles has come to love his quiet, crazy supernatural serial killer free life. Giving it up is not an option, not to mention Lydia would probably eviscerate him if he did write anything about the supernatural shenanigans he had experienced on a dating (no matter how sketchy) site.

“I’m horrible at this bullshit,” he says, breaking the silence that has descended between them. Lydia hums, still scribbling away.

“Stop trying to entice people. You’re useless at seduction.”

“Excuse you, I’m a master seducer!”

The pity on Lydia’s face is more hurtful than any sarcastic comment she could throw in his way. “Sweetie, you are really, really not.”

Whatever.

Stiles narrows his eyes, pushing away his wounded pride. From what he knows of online dating profiles of any kind, lying seems to be a key factor if someone wants to be successful. But Stiles doesn’t want to lie about himself. Omit things definitely, but not outright lying. And maybe he shouldn’t be too revealing about himself either. Focusing on the interesting parts is the important thing here. Being on point.

He rubs his thumb over his lips a few times, perfectly aware that Lydia has abandoned her work to watch him like the vulture she is, before he places his fingers on his keyboard and starts typing.

 

  
Rereading what he’s written, he contemplates using the quote in its original form, but he has the feeling that it would be over kill and make him come across like a know-it-all douche. He leaves out the part where he’s a total geek and adores comic books even at twenty-six. He leaves out that his body is ridden with scars that match the ones left on his mind and sing odes to the nightmares that still splatter his dreams every now and then. Maybe a bit more often than that. And he sure as hell leaves out that the demonic possession he went through at seventeen left him with an uncanny (and nowadays diligently fine-honed) skill of raising the dead.

He bites his lip and blinks at Lydia, switching windows so their call comes back in full size. She is still watching him, with the creeping intensity that only can be found in serial killers or every lycantrope he has ever met. He quirks a smile at her but reads out what he managed to put together before she can open her mouth to deliver something sharp and barbed with it.

“Do you think I should add more?” He rubs his fingers together with practiced easy, skin sliding on skin with the softest of slurs.

“No,” she replies with a nod, as if consenting to his wish to move on. “But be more detailed in the ‘Desires’ section. It won’t filter the sleazes completely, but will give you a chance to avoid most of the unimaginative drivel that is only good for fully losing hope in humanity.”

“Okay,” he agrees. Not that he really knows what he’s looking for. But maybe compiling a list could work.  


He lifts his awesome Batman notepad up and flips it to face the screen so Lydia can read it too. Seeing her narrow his eyes to see Stiles’ writing better would have given him palpitations back in high school, but now it just leaves him nervous with a dash of amusement at her adorably squinty face sprinkled in. Lydia’s lips twitch and she rolls her eyes a few times, but she must not find anything seriously wrong with his list because the disparaging comments do not follow.

Or so he thought.

“Your standards are abysmally low,” she says, but at least she isn’t being a bitch about it. She almost sounds fond. “That said, finding someone who matches all your criteria will be harder than you probably think.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.”

“Stiles, most of the Daddies on sites like this are selfish, egotistical tin cans filled with money and megalomaniac tendencies.”

“You are not really encouraging me to finish this stupid thing, just saying.”

“I’m not saying there are not any great people on the site. I have met a few and the Moderators are very strict about harassment,” Lydia counters easily. “But more importantly, expecting someone who is rich, entitled and used to getting what they want and when they want it not to be a snob is irrational.”

Stiles frowns at his list. “I’ve written ‘Not a huge snob’, so maybe if they are only snobs a little I can be fine. Or even medium snobs can work. Probably. Maybe.” He doesn’t add that Lydia is a snob too, yet they are still friends. He draws the line at Jackson’s level though. “My main concern is them being this giant creep. Like Deucalion was. Or everyone’s favorite horror grandpa. Or his fucking daughter.”

“Stiles—”

“No, it’s okay. I’m okay.” He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “So what you are saying is that I should sugarcoat all of my requirements so the fragile ego of all these strangers doesn’t get bruised?”

“Just focus on the kind of relationship you want to build,” Lydia replies with a sigh. “The moment you list something deeper than NSA, most of the Daddies will scatter without looking back.”

“But I should leave out the no sausage in my pie rule. Isn’t that a little too close to scamming?”

“Leaving out intimate details of your introduction is a must. It will be the perfect second or maybe even third tier filter once you start drawing in potential partners.”

A part of Stiles feels like he should be offended by that, but he can’t really find a gap in Lydia’s logic that could warrant it. Sure, he’s not ashamed of being the way he is, but he can agree that writing a dissertation about the non-commonly running wires in his brain on a site that allows 2,000 characters per section might not be the ideal choice to attract anyone. So, instead of scrambling for a counterargument he just nods in acceptance.

“What about the age? Should I mention it?” he asks.

“Setting an upper limit is not a bad idea, but be laxer than you would be otherwise.”

“So instead of drawing the line at 45 I should just push it out to 55?”

“The best feature of this site is that the members can interact via the video streaming feature. It really works like Twitch, Periscope or even just starting a live stream on Instagram or Facebook. The difference is that you need to give permission for the viewers to watch you.”

“Is that safe?”

“Obviously, it’s up to you how much you show of yourself. But the site protects you as much as possible.”

“How?”

“Well, starting with iron clad Terms and Conditions,” Lydia says, her smile sharp like a shark’s that’s smelling blood. “You will see this when you read it yourself, but all of the content Sugar Babies upload to the site is technically leased by the company behind the site from the Babies in exchange for using all the features free of charge. Of course, the site agrees to keep all the content private and the Babies can decide which of their posted and/or streamed content they want to sell and even then further distribution of said content will result in not only immediate banning of the misstepping Sugar Daddy or Momma but a lawsuit as well.”

“Oookay,” Stiles sputters, “let’s ignore the fact that you probably just paraphrased an entire section of said Terms and Conditions just to prove your point. What you basically mean is that if some dickbag decides to post my videos or pictures somewhere else after buying it from me, the site not only kicks their ass to the curb but also nails a practically won lawsuit on it as well. Am I getting it right?”

Lydia smirks. Jesus, Mary and all the Saints Stiles doesn’t believe in, whoever came up with this thing, they must have been some sort of evil genius…

Stiles narrows his eyes.

“Lydia.”

“Yes?”

“When did you plan to tell me that you created a Sugar website that protects its clients like no other place?”

Her smile is beatific and Stiles’ fingers itch to reach through his screen and wipe it off. He doesn’t smile back. He’s not angry or feeling betrayed or jealous, he is simply… disappointed that Lydia, one of his best friends, did not share something so important and great with him. And based on all the features she has told him about and the serious effort and work put into building the site, it’s definitely not something new.

Lydia’s expression dims.  
  
“Originally? When we are the number one Sugar site in the industry,” she forms her words carefully, after so many years knowing him too well not to. “Then What’s His Face dumped you and I couldn’t miss the opportunity.”

“To show off.”

She purses her lips.

“To help you.”

Stiles sneers.

“And to show off. A little,” she concedes.

Stiles hums, earning a glower and a sharp glare. He lifts a mocking eyebrow he learned from Derek. Lydia glares harder but her lower lip juts out making her look like a petulant child. It makes Stiles’ lips twitch.

“On the one hand? I’m fucking proud of you for coming up with this and pulling it off,” he says in the end. “On the other? Your humble bragging needs some more work and you are an asshole.”

Lydia scoffs, but after a long second nods. “Takes one to know one,” she snipes, the edge of her tone softened by the excitement shining on her face. “Anyway. You can take my word for it. The site is as safe as anything can be on the internet. And I know you and Jackson don’t see eye to eye,” Stiles snorts at that, “but you have to admit he is a good lawyer with friends in high places.”

Yeah, because Lizard Face is spectacular at ass-kissing and double-crossing people. Of course, Stiles keeps that little gem of an opinion to himself. Lydia likes the jerk, hell, she loves him with all her heart and the fire of a thousand suns or whatever. Stiles is mature enough to accept that his friend has a horrible taste in men, even if that guy actually loves her back just as much. And sometimes can be tolerated — in small doses with loads of alcohol. He doesn’t mention that either.

Instead he says, “Fine, but if my nudes turn up in my lecture hall, I’m suing your ass.”

“Technically, you should sue your own ass in that case,” Lydia replies, way too innocently.

Stiles’ hand freezes on his touch pad and something bubbly spreads in his chest. “You used my Privacy Rune Net. Seriously? You managed to crack it and turned it into binary?!”

“It’s in Beta,” Lydia hedges but her face says it all. She did it. “Don’t celebrate just yet. The first tests before the launch came back with positive results, but the effects were not as strong even if Jackson had to buy a new computer and the site he wanted to upload the extracted data crashed.”

Stiles snorts out a laugh. “Causing physical damage via coding is only possible if the virus affects the hardware. You might want to hit Danny up for that part.”

“Yes, that’s the problem.”

“I’m not following.”

“The reason the protective layer is in Beta. It works just fine when the violation is done by someone with little to no knowledge about coding and hacking. Which is most of our clientele. But it doesn’t stand up to the skills of a respectable IT professional.”

“Just say hacker.”

“I’m being serious, Stiles,” Lydia bites out, but Stiles just shrugs and nods for her to go on. “The reason your rune net works so perfectly in real life is because you leak your magic into the runes for extra power. Doing that in digital form is not possible.”

“Hmm… This might be just a wild idea, but what about using the actual rune net as a secondary layer of protection?” he muses, the cogs in his brain turning fast.

“How do you mean?”

“I could draw up the net with a stylus on a digital canvas and it could be added as a near invisible background layer to the site. However, if you’ve read enough Harry Potter fanfiction, you know that electronics and magic do not work well together. Which means that putting actual strength behind the runes is not possible. The good news, though, is that with full power behind the runes there is a good chance that the users on the site would not be able to access each other’s profiles. This way it might just work.”

Lydia listens to his rambling in silence, her hand playing with a strand of her hair absentmindedly. She is quiet for a few minutes, jotting down something on a piece of paper or something in front of her, but eventually she hums in assent and nods her head sharply.

“I’ll need to talk to Danny about this, but it has merit,” she says, smiling lightly. “Now, go back and finish up your profile. I’ll pick out a few good pictures for you. And Stiles?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles nods, but doesn’t say it’s okay. Instead, he pulls the Sugar site back up and starts typing. He kind of hopes he won’t offend anyone, but can’t really find it in himself to care if he does.  


Is that too vague? Sounds like open season for every sleaze barrel out there hungry for some semi-fresh meat? Stiles has no idea, but he doesn’t hate what he has written and it still sounds better than copy-pasting his list and hoping for the best. At the very least he doesn’t come across as someone looking for a humanoid ATM. That has to mean something. Or maybe not. It’s not like he has any experience in catching the interest of established and wealthy people. At twenty-six he is a little too late to the Twink Auditions, if not in body then in soul definitely.

Especially since he can grow proper facial hair now.

A series of little pings tell him that Lydia has sent over whatever photos she could dig up from who knows where (hopefully not Facebook), and taking a quick look at her expression shows Stiles that she is way too happy with herself. Stiles prays for patience and enlarges their conversation again, clicking on the chat bubble icon to see what he got.

“Where did you find these?” he finds himself asking as he stares at the assortment of images in front of him.

Lydia smiles, mysterious like a sphinx. “Here and there. I like to keep good memories of my friends.”

“I look like I got mauled by a rabid dog on one of these!”

“But look at your arms and chest! You filled out so well,” she counters, deadpan.

Stiles needs new friends. Now it’s official. He scowls at her. “Wait, this was after the latest wendigo shit hit the fan wasn’t it? When did you have the chance to take this picture? Or any pictures for that matter?”

“I’m a multitasker.” She shrugs. “But I admit that might not work.”

“You think?”

Stiles sighs and decides not to delve on it. He should be happy she had pictures of him that do not show him as a slob or a moron or a giant klutz. Or all three at the same time. So he starts uploading them one after each other, picking a simple headshot of himself in one of his hoodies as his profile picture, because why the hell not. He debates uploading any of the more… delicate pictures, but in the end he adds them to his private photo section, because if nothing else, he knows how men’s brain work and a little bit of naked skin never hurt anyone.

Which leaves picking a name for himself.

“I should just be super tacky and go with BabyBoyThirstyforsomeD,” he mutters, but it’s loud enough for the microphone in his laptop to catch it and relay it to Lydia who snorts.

“Let’s not do that,” she says, biting into her lip to keep in the giggles. “Mainly because that name is already taken.”

“Oh, Jackson finally found his calling?” He smirks at her glare. “Anyway, it would be kinda misleading too.”

“Just go with something simple but catchy.”

“Easier said than done. I’ll just go with my given name and have all the Daddies and Mommas butcher it…” And idea strikes him suddenly. “Oh, I know! I’ll be MischievousFox.”

“Stiles…” Lydia trails off, looking like he is biting back whatever she wanted to say. “Are you sure?”

Stiles appreciates the concern. But he doesn’t need it. He refuses to be a victim, to feel let alone act like one. It has been nearly a decade since then and he is doing his best every day to live with what he had done and had been done to him. The scars on his mind will never disappear, but they are not raw anymore. He survived and rebuilt himself from scratch, digging himself out of the hole he had been kicked into.

He is a survivor.

“Yes, I’m sure,” is what he says, and to prove his point he types his chosen moniker in and saves all his changes.

He sort of expected it to be cathartic, but all he feels is uncertainty about the whole thing even after verifying his email and getting a peek at his brand new Sugar Baby profile.  


For a second he wonders why the background has changed to two guys when before he was assaulted by staged intimate moments between straight couples. Maybe not discriminating between genders automatically wins him the gay experience package? He even opens his mouth to ask Lydia, because he’s just that kind of an asshole, but before he can Lydia is speaking and making him forget what he wanted to say.

“I’ll go and verify your images now and save us all the embarrassment of having one of the Mods see that pathetic face you are making.”

“You’re just afraid that I’d take a selfie that has the lovely ketchup stain on my tee showing,” Stiles retorts, and they both know that he absolutely would. “Would that be a big enough of an offense to get me booted from your highly exclusive site?”

“It just might,” she snipes. “Then again that bird nest on the top of your head and the… what even is that on your face?”

“A beard?”

So sue him, he hasn’t really had the chance or enough fucks to give to shave or even trim his beard in the past few days. Midterms just passed and he isn’t a big enough of a fish to have his own TA to do the grading for him. And for some reason, being one of the youngest lecturers on campus somehow earned him two classes full with incompetent undergrads who think Ancient Religions and Rituals and Slavic Pantheon: A History are easy picks for electives. Stiles feels a vindictive sense of glee at the shocked faces of his students when they received their test sheets a week ago. That was a pretty nasty wake up call for most of them, soured even further by the grades they will receive, if the ones he has finished grading are anything to go by.

Not to mention, it’s Saturday and he has no plans to go out or meet people at least until Monday. His beard didn’t hurt anyone. Except Lydia’s sensibilities, not that they won’t survive.

“I’m not commenting on that,” she says in a way that is basically a comment in itself, and Stiles seriously tries to find a single fuck to give, but just cannot find it anywhere. “Anyway, your profile is approved, so go and have fun.”

“Yeah, about that,” Stiles says, scratching the back of his head with a grimace. “How does the video thing work? I tweet about my upcoming ‘show’ and hope all the people interested will get the memo?”

“Yes. And while you’re at it, please invite all the Daddies and Mommas personally by name.”

“Your sarcasm is appreciated but misplaced,” he snipes with a wide fake smile.

Lydia sighs and shrugs one of her shoulders. “You know how to read. I gave you a tool that can solve your problem, but I’m not going to do the work for you. I got you in, be happy with that.”

“I’m ecstatic.”

“Just read the rules and you’ll know what to do. Now, if you excuse me, I have a mathematical theory to prove.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, just blows him a kiss and disconnects their call. Stiles rolls his eyes at her dramatics, way too familiar with them, and minimizes the window to focus on his brand new Sugar Baby profile. Even without asking, he knows Lydia enough to be sure that she will check if he finished it and will cut him a new asshole if he didn’t. And who knows? Maybe she’s right. Maybe finding a rich, older man or woman is the key to his happiness.

Clicking on the Q&A icon, he starts reading, getting lost in the wast sea of information Lydia’s team provided for every fumbling newbie. It’s well organized and they obviously thought of everything — or heard everything from said newbies —, but manages not to sound patronizing. It’s interesting and mildly terrifying how much it is emphasized that Sugar Babies need to be careful and should they provide their Daddies or Mommas with private material outside the site there is nothing the Admins or higher ups can do if the material isn’t handled discreetly.

Stiles wonders how many people have complained in the past about their nude pics or videos being used against them in one way or another because they thought being members of the site protected them against being careless idiots. And okay, no one should be such a despicable bastard to put someone else’s private pictures or videos on the internet or maybe go as far as blackmail them with those things, but the world is a fucked up place and everyone needs to protect themselves first and foremost. If someone asks for your nudes after barely knowing them at all, the least you can do is to never take pics or shoot videos with your face visible. It’s basically 21st Century Nudes 101.

He moves on to the section about setting up his video streaming gig — something he’s still less than sure about — and from the looks of it, it works pretty much the same way Instagram’s and Facebook’s live streaming does. Except here Daddies and Mommas can send Diamonds to the Babies’ accounts to get access to their live shows if they don’t have access already by being the Babies’ friend or are not invited by the Babies. He nods at the note about Babies having the right to ban anyone from their shows if they get harassed in any way and hums at the layers of protection the Daddies and Mommas get from being able to pick a chat name for the live shows that are not linked to their profiles.

Obviously, Lydia and her team have worked hard on ironing out the rules, and Stiles now can understand why the site has so many users already despite only having been running for barely a year. He spends at least another hour on reading the rules and setting up his account should someone decide to want to give him Diamonds that he would be able to exchange for real money, before he deems himself done for the day and forces himself to look for some sustenance that isn’t coffee or so greasy that looking at it is enough to clog up his arteries. Setting up his Wish List can wait another day, surely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belated Happy New Year! Wow, I seriously did not expect this sort of reaction, so you guys sort of blew my mind. For which I thank you so much! I can't even tell you how much it means to me that you seem to like this story and I hope the new chapter won't disappoint either. At the same time sorry for the slow updating, life hasn't been the best and with my health acting like a game of Russian Roulette, it's not always easy to write. Still, I'm going to see this story to the end (hoping to write about 5-6 chapters altogether) and I hope it will not disappoint.
> 
> I'll get to replying all your wonderful comments asap (hopefully tomorrow) but know that I loved each and every one of them and I'm so happy that my giftee, lostwithoutmyanchor did like the first chapter! <3
> 
> Oh yeah and I'm sorry the images don't show on phone, if you guys have a solution for it please tell me and I'll correct that error immediately.

Crawling out of his grading hell induced coma the next morning, Stiles does not expect his inbox to be blown up with half a dozen message bundles, all of them some sort of notification from _noreply@diamondsinthesky.com_. Blinking blearily at his phone screen, he fleetingly curses himself for not turning the light down the night before even as he tries to process what he is seeing. According to his phone, he has fifty public profile views, thirty-two private photo requests, twenty-four friend requests, eighteen messages, fifteen comments on his pictures, and six Diamond donations. That seems outlandish to him even at 20% brain capacity.

He rubs his eyes and lets the phone fall from his fingers onto the bed next to him. Maybe, a few years ago he would have been already opening the site up either on his phone — he still had to actually download the app — or on his computer, checking who had written him and trying to come up with witty responses. Having spent most of the night grading inept brats’ half-assed tests on his motherfucking PhD research field, however, left him with a literally nonexistent sense of excitement, and all he wants is to bury himself in his blankets and sink into his mattress forever. As that is really not an option, he goes for the next best thing and simply curls up on his side, blindly reaching out for the remote controller he left somewhere under the pristine, unused pillow on the other side of his bed to turn on the TV mounted on the wall across from his bed.

Dozing to morning cartoons is a luxury he couldn’t really afford for the past few weeks, and he refuses to go without that wonderful feeling of half-listening to the drama of imaginary worlds while mostly floating on the clouds of unconsciousness any longer. He doesn’t even open his eyes to check what is on, the voices and sounds coming from his TV blurring into a soothing background noise that allows him to forget everything for a while.

It’s magical.

He comes to again to the grating, over intoned voice of a kid demanding something from his mother, and he cracks one of his eyes open to see some cereal commercial urging him to buy ‘the best cocoa puffs you will ever taste’. Stiles, rolls over onto his back with a groan, thankful for the heavy-duty curtains that hide the outside world from his aching eyes. He knows it must be later — but not too late if cereal commercials are still on and haven’t been replaced by more adulty things like beer or fancy razors advertised by sport icons —, but it’s Sunday and aside from giving his father a call in a few hours, he has nothing to do. His grading is done, his dissertation is not going anywhere and he has leftover soup from the day before that will be the perfect lunch once he deems himself fit enough to get out of bed. Which might never happen.

His phone howls at him, telling him he got a new email. Stiles squints at the device with a grimace, before reaching for it, not that he’s expecting anything urgent, but if it’s late enough for his phone to actually make noises at him instead of piling up notifications in silence, then it’s safer to check than ignore it until he’s more coherent. Of course, it’s nothing important, just another bunch of notifications from the stupid site Lydia made him sign up to the day before. But at least now he knows that it’s almost noon and that the weather outside is sunny and pretty warm considering it’s November already. He checks the notifications — five messages, thirteen friend requests and twenty profile views — absentmindedly before he makes an actual effort and gets out of bet, draping his blankets around his shoulders like a cape.

He half-heartedly drops them in the bathroom doorway in favor of his morning routine, something his bladder thanks him for, only to pick them up again on his way to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. He stands in front of the machine with rapt attention, watching as the first drops of dark ambrosia fall into his favorite mug, promising him clarity and alertness in a way the bright sunlight coming from the window next to him doesn’t have the power to. It strikes him again how much he missed the lazy mornings of having nothing important to do, so he takes his time sipping his coffee at the kitchen island and reading whatever article pops up on his phone.

It isn’t until he is mostly awake and functioning that he shuffles over to the office corner he sat up in front of the bay of windows at the far end of his living room to open his laptop up and take a look at whatever is waiting for him at Lydia’s Sugar website. Logging in takes no time, but actually taking in the sight of the little numbers staring back at him from the right upper corner of almost all of the function icons takes a bit longer. The main problem isn’t even understanding what he is seeing, but matching his expectations to reality, because despite Lydia’s claims, Stiles definitely did not expect the interest he has gotten in such little time.

The starving undergrad in him, the one he hasn’t fully managed to shake off his bones yet, itches to check how much Diamonds he received from absolute strangers just because they liked what they saw, but the money is really the last thing he needs from a possible relationship, so he does what a responsible adult is supposed to and goes to his inbox. He likes how the messages are lined up as little envelop icons with the profile picture and the sender’s chosen nickname added. He snickers at some of the names like DaddyformahBBY and SugarCaneDaddy, while frowns at some of the others like DscrtAffairs and HushHush_Daddy, but he has to admit that the names have nothing on some of the messages.

He deletes six on the spot because they have nothing more than some form of offer for sex ranging from " _ur lips + mah dick?"_ to " _I’m looking for a Baby Boy who is ready to be at my beck and call with his little hole always ready for my cock"._ He doesn’t even check who they were from, just hits the Delete button and moves on. He leaves the ones that only have the standard " _Hi, how are you?_ " as the opening line, but doesn’t reply them, opting to check the profiles behind the messages first and decides who he wants to talk to later. It leaves him with seven messages that are more detailed and Stiles reads them one by one, checking out the profile that goes along with them before moving on to the next one.

The first one came from Lux_for_Baby, whose profile picture is of a middle-aged, athletic looking man in a black suit and a white shirt open at the neck. The man’s face seems friendly, his smile wide and he doesn’t look much older than the age he put down in his profile despite having white-gray hair. It must be the golden tan he is sporting and the thick neck that has always been Stiles’ weakness. Not to mention Lux_for_Baby is polite in his message, but doesn’t waste his time on small talk.

Stiles’ fingers are already on the keyboard before his brain makes the decision to reply. He rarely is in need for words, but this time he has no idea what to say. The man could be his father. Actually, the man is only two years younger than his father. And while there is no doubt that Lux or Thomas or whatever is attractive, Stiles isn’t sure he could be what the man is looking for. He has little doubt of what the man means by ‘taking charge’, and while Stiles can be a demanding little shit in his worse moments, he is better at working in the background, being the brain of the operation. Still, the man was polite, and Stiles can lose nothing by replying, so he goes for the honest route and decides to see where takes him.

He decides not to sign his real name and wonders if he should have gone for a more cutesy approach or at least be a little bubblier. The very thought leaves him with shivers, because if there is something he is not, it’s definitely bubbly and cutesy. He is, however, a sarcastic little shit, so the Daddies (and Mommas) on this site better fucking appreciate him reigning in his tongue. At least for a while.

He goes over a the rest of the messages, quickly realizing that just because they are longer they are not necessarily better. One of them, sent by some psycho named Whips&Stones, goes as far as to write down what he would do with Stiles if he got his hands on him and the details of the message leaves him cold. He deletes the message on the spot and blocks the guy, because just no. Nope. Net. He is no one’s slave and would probably raise an entire cemetery and sick it on anyone who tried to touch him without his consent let alone gag him and whip his body and keep him on his hands and knees all day.

Disillusioned — and isn’t that some sort of new record even for him? —, he exits the site and wanders over to his couch to flop down on it. Maybe Netflix has something to offer to take his mind off the slimy feeling left on his insides from the sickening words the disgusting bastard has shoved down his throat. And maybe, he should have exited after the first sentence, but Stiles and impulse control have never been great friends and he just couldn’t stop reading the revolting drivel wrapped in near artistic bullshit flower language.

Fuck.

He squeezes his eyes shut and puts on My Little Pony, because there is no chance anything else will help bleach his brain. He thinks about sending Lydia a text to tell her to ban the bastard for life, because there is a good chance the sicko is hiding a real rapist and abuser behind the mask of a BDSM sadist/dom. He actually does type the message out, hating how his fingers tremor slightly, but in the end doesn’t hit send just pastes the text into an empty note and saves it for later. His fingers type out another message, but he deletes it the second it’s finished; he really isn’t in the mood to deal with Lydia and her too sharp mind.

He watches awesome animated ponies being badasses while buried deep into his blanket, only resurfacing from the haze he has slipped into when his phone starts ringing, telling him he forgot to call his dad.

“ _Is everything okay?_ ” is his father’s first question when Stiles picks up. The worry in his voice makes Stiles wince and hit pause on the TV instantly.

“Heeey dad.” He aims for sheepishly cheerful, and manages strangled instead. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just exhausted from grading. Lost the track of time thanks to all the brilliant minds I’m trying to influence. You know how it goes. You put in all the work and they can’t be assed to remember that mother fu…dging Zeus is not a Slavic deity. And I know that some of these little shi—”

“ _Stiles._ ” Stiles shuts up.

His dad waits because he is a persistent bastard with the determination of a bloodhound that just caught the scent of prey. Stiles glares at the frozen ponies on his TV screen and silently hates/loves how far they have come since his mother’s death and then all the supernatural bullshit that nearly finished what grief and horrible coping methods hadn’t. They have worked so hard on mending all the near collapsed bridges between them, and it clearly shows. There is no more bullshit, there is no more hiding behind spastic babbling even from thousands of miles away.

He sighs.

“Jason dumped me and I became a Sugar Baby.”

He expects the silence that follows his rushed admission. He even expects the long-suffering sigh which follows it. What he doesn’t expect is the quiet, worried question, “ _Are you being careful?_ ”

“I’m always careful,” he tries to insist, but his father’s snort tells him what he thinks of that. “As careful as possible. This is… I don’t know, dad.” He stops, stares at the badass ponies without really seeing them. “It was Lydia’s idea.” And okay, that sounded less ‘throwing my friend under the bus’ in his head, but it’s the truth.

“ _Lydia’s idea._ ” His dad sounds only vaguely skeptical, which tells a lot about how well he knows her. It should be impossible, a dream come true for the teenager Stiles has barely left behind, but the reality of it — the changes it took for them to get here — isn’t as heartwarming as one would think. Still, Stiles cannot say he isn’t proud to have someone as brilliant as the soon to be Dr. Lydia Martin as his best friend.

He rubs his palm over his blanket and tries to focus on the topic at hand. “She said I can do better than picking up losers who are only after my money, never mind that most of that is imagined, and sent me a link to this site.”

“ _I understand that… it’s just, son, isn’t this a little extreme?_ ”

Stiles can hear the unvoiced words of ‘this is just a step away from prostitution’, and Stiles can’t say the thought hasn’t occurred him. It has. More than once. But he knows what he is looking for, and it’s really not someone to finance his studies for a good session of fucking or even just nudes and maybe cock sucking. But even if he was looking for that, there would be nothing wrong with it. Because everyone deserved nice things, and, after some serious consideration, Stiles really cannot find it in himself to begrudge anyone who trades in a few nights of fun — or even more — for being able to pay their rent, or eat or even just for that cute bag they have been wanting for ages. It’s not for him, for obvious reasons, but he can totally understand it.

“It’s not like I’m desperate, dad,” he says. “I’m not scouring the profiles of rich men and sending off messages left and right, hoping to catch myself a personal ATM. I just… it feels like I’ve tried everything, you know? Social network, dating apps, the real thing, but it always comes down to the same thing. Well things. Someone either wants to use me or kill me. So what could it hurt to try this? Something Lydia swears is safe?”

“ _There is nothing wrong with being single, son,_ ” his dad replies, and it sounds placating, like an encouragement as if his dad is thinking that Stiles is giving up and settling for something sub par.

“I know that, dad,” Stiles huffs and refrains from rolling his eyes because his dad always knows when he does it. “And I’m not in any hurry to go on a date with anyone. It’s just… a chance, an option.”

“ _Just promise me you’ll be careful. No nude pictures that show your face or videos for that matter._ ” Stiles swallows back the mortified groan, feeling his entire face heat up. He’s a twenty-six year old adult man. He can talk about intimate pictures with his father.

“I know the rules, believe me. And I’m not stupid. No nudes before the big bucks come in,” he tries to joke, but his words sound washed-out. He heaves a long tired breath before he adds, “I’ll be careful, pops.”

“ _Good. Now tell me about your grading._ ”

They talk for a while, and when Stiles says his goodbyes over thirty minutes later he feels calmer and much better about himself too. Which must be why he finds himself back in front of his laptop with the message he composed to Lydia pulled up. Along with the disgusting drivel Whips&Stones had sent him. He reads the… proposition again and then once again, forcing the queasiness down at the revolting words, but no matter how he looks at it, it is basically a threat to be raped and being held as the bastard’s slave should they ever meet. Which is something he very much intends to talk to Lydia about. Because ensuring the members’ freedom of speech is nice and all, after all there are many people with kinks that far surpassed his own, but there is kinky and there is endangering another person’s safety. And if Lydia wanted to boast how protective her site was of its Sugar Babies then she had to actually prove that was true on every level.

So, instead of checking any of the new messages that have popped up since he took his well-needed break hours ago, he unlocks his phone and calls Lydia.

“ _Stiles?_ ” Lydia’s voice is sharp and suspicious, not a surprise considering Stiles’ usual inability to keep in touch with his loved ones unless prompted by alerts and reminders in his calendar. It’s not even his fault most of the time. Adulthood is just a seemingly never ending loop of time slips where Stiles works, eats and sleeps, and which is only ever interrupted by supernatural threats he never asks to encounter and doing some working out when he can actually remember to hit the gym in the basement of his apartment complex. Who thought that living to see twenty and even twenty-six would mean drifting away from the very people he thought he will always be close to? At least now he understands why his dad always says he doesn’t really have friends. “ _Stiles, did you sleep dial me?_ ”

“Wha—? Oh no, sorry, Lyds,” Stiles says and shakes his depressing thoughts away. “I’m calling about your site.”

“ _My site. Did you meet someone?_ ” Lydia asks and she sounds almost hopeful.

“No.” Stiles holds back a wince at the vehemence of his tone. “Sorry, no. But someone just sent me a message about wanting to enslave me and rape me and that shit is just… no.”

“ _Stiles—_ ”

“What I mean,” Stiles barrels on, knowing very well how sensitive the topic is for both of them, “is that you need to set up flags for this shit. It fucking sucks having to face something like this and wonder if you’re making it up in your mind or you really encountered some monster that doesn’t have fangs and claws but is just as dangerous.”

There is a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Lydia says, “ _Yes, you’re right. And we have talked about it, too, but unless we can come up with a magical solution that can detect the intent of the sender, flags alone won’t be enough. We both know that words can be twisted in a way to avoid tripping any alarms._ ”

“Yes, well, half of me is ready to hunt this asshole down and show him real enslavement, while the other half just wants to go back to my couch and stay curled up until I have to go back to work tomorrow and never see your stupid website ever again,” Stiles bites out, controlling himself enough not to actually snap at Lydia.

Logically he knows it’s not her fault that they can’t catch every disgusting swine out there. Especially the rich ones. But it’s not those bastards who have to live with the memory of being at the complete mercy of some…thing else, of not having the slightest bit of control over their bodies or even their thoughts. They are not the ones who have to live with a piece of darkness forever etched into their hearts.

“ _If you send me his name, I’ll ensure that he’s not only banned from the site for life but his actions are investigated by the authorities as well,_ ” Lydia offers, and Stiles believes her. If she can find something on Whips&Stones, she will and ruin the man whoever he is thoroughly. “ _But if you’re up to it, don’t give up just yet. If nothing else, I’m sure you can think up ways to improve the site._ ”

“Yeah, you should have brought me on board from the start,” Stiles comments and with a few clicks sends Lydia the already composed email.

“ _Maybe. But it was my project and I wanted it to be successful and to work without help… And by help I mean help from my friends and not help from people I actually pay good money to do as I say._ ”

“Alright, I can see that.”

He really can. Lydia has always been fiercely independent and a project like this must have been a huge headache to pull off. Which must have been why Lydia wanted to wait until it was the best site the internet can offer before bringing it up to Stiles. At least one of the reasons. And Stiles could appreciate it for sure, but they have always worked well together, their brains just seemed to click and their ideas and goals matched most of the time. Which made them a formidable duo and landed Lydia the best friend spot in Stiles’ life. Whatever that even meant nowadays.

“One of these days we are going to crack magic and take over the cyber world,” he says to break the silence, his fingers tapping lightly on his keyboard without hitting any of the keys really. Lydia agrees with a hum, obviously still reading the message Stiles sent her.

“ _Do you think that setting up a filter system that automatically puts messages that ping any of the set keywords into a sort of quarantine and requires the user’s approval to be opened would help weed out the garbage from the user roster?_ ” she asks after another minute of silence. “ _Because this, this is something I refuse to condone and not just because of you._ ”

“Only if the filtered messages are also forwarded to the admins’ server for evaluation. Which would suggest that you might need a new server and some extra hands on deck, because I doubt this guy is the only self-glorified ‘master’ on the site,” Stiles replies, shrugging his shoulders even though he knows Lydia cannot see him. “As for giving up, we’ll see. But I have never been one to be scared away by real life monsters, human ones don’t stand a chance.”

“ _I’ll talk to our tech guys,_ ” Lydia says. Stiles can hear the strain in her tone, and briefly wonders if the stress will get to her eventually. She might be a genius, but Banshee powers don’t come with a built in time turner no matter how cool it would be, and Lydia has been more overworked than Stiles thought with her lovely, not so little, side project. “ _Stiles…_ ”

Stiles sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Never apologize for other people’s actions,” he says, voice cheerful. “Just keep me updated and if you need some… enforcement, call me.”

“ _Of course. Talk later?_ ”

“Always.”

They hang up and Stiles leans back in his comfy computer chair staring at the darkened monitor in front of him. Then his fingers find the touch pad on his laptop and he clicks back onto the tab with Lydia’s site still open in it. He’s not sure if he wants to brave his messages again, but his notifications show that he has seven more messages and other stuff from people, and as much as he wants to brag about his maturity, his curiosity is not a trait he has managed to get under control since he passed the magical age of twenty-one that’s supposed to mark him as an adult. So of course he clicks on the messages icon and is pleasantly surprised to see that Whips&Stones is not longer a member of the site.

A slow smile curls his lips at Lydia’s efficiency, and he hopes she will be kind and provide him with an address once she is through with the pathetic jerkoff herself. There is an itch in him to pay the bastard back for being able to shake him up with mere words, an itch that’s just shy on burning in his chest. He licks his lips as he stares at the glaring words that are proof that Whips&Stones has been banned from the site.

The sadistic dickhead has no idea who he decided to play with yet, but he will learn.

He spends some time checking out the profile of the guys who have written him, but he just doesn’t feel replying any of them, not even Thomas who has answered Stiles’ earlier message. He might have told Lydia that he’s not giving up, but maybe just maybe he needed a bit more time to get a grip on all his swirling thoughts. And maybe some more rest. All these strange men could wait for one more day.

 

 


End file.
